


A Damn Good Reason

by katikat



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Coda, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 08:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14185248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat
Summary: Jack looks into Mac’s late arrival in episode 218. Coda to said ep. Jack’s POV. (Unbeta'd)





	A Damn Good Reason

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet deals with Mac's visit to the Museum of the Holocaust in LA and the possible consequences of it. If that particular storyline on the show makes you uncomfortable, leave.

Mac was late that morning. Mac’s never late. Unless he’s been doing something he shouldn’t be doing or at least he shouldn’t be doing it without telling Jack first, something that’s going to make Jack’s blood pressure skyrocket when he finds out, for sure, because Jack always finds out, sooner or later.

Thus Mac’s lateness deserves looking into.

And that’s how Jack finds himself lazily sprawled on the hood of Mac’s striking red Jeep - inconspicuous Mac’s car is definitely  _not_ \- leaning back against the sun-warmed windshield with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed and his sunglasses on - and all that directly in front of the Museum of the Holocaust in the City of Angels. Not an appropriate place for sunbathing, even Jack has to admit that, but it was either that or him lurking in his car, parked at the curb across the street, looking very  _suspicious_ , considering the location.

The fact that he could just  _leave_ and confront Mac later, doesn’t even cross his mind. Because Mac’s a  _slippery_ one. If you don’t catch him in the act, he’ll find a way to wiggle out of your grasp and turn the whole conversation, the one you had so nicely planned out in your head, against you. Slippery and smart, a dangerous combination.

Footsteps on the sidewalk. A pause, a sigh, a continuation of said footsteps. Without opening his eyes, Jack grins.  _Yup, gotcha!_

“I  _would_ have told you!” is the first thing that Mac tells him in an exasperated tone of voice.

Jack opens his eyes, slides his butt down the hood to sit on the very edge of it and pulls his sunglasses down to look at Mac over the rim. “ _Sure_ , bud.”

Mac stops right in front of him with his hands on his hips and glares up at Jack. “I  _would_ have!” he insists. “Once I found something actually  _worth telling_. But these archives, they have thousands,  _hundreds_ of thousands of entries, Jack, and it might take me weeks or months to go through them. And I might not even find anything in the end!”

Jack stares down at him for a long moment, then he sighs and hops off the car. The kid apparently doesn’t get it. “Did it ever even occur to you that someone might not like you digging into this stuff?”

Mac blinks, taken aback a little. “What?”

Rubbing his forehead, Jack says, “When I tell  _you_ to tell  _me_ what you’re up to, I’m not doing it out of some-some freakish need to  _control_ you or whatever. I need to know these things in case something goes wrong. Do you get that?”

“I get it, Jack,” Mac replies and Jack can  _sense_  the eye-roll that never actually comes to be. “But I was just–”

“Digging into stuff that made your father run!” Jack says over him. “And  _stay_ on the run. For the last fifteen plus years. Did  _that_ fact penetrate that thick skull of yours? If he’s still running and hiding, it means that whatever danger there was all those years ago, it still exists! As in, it poses a  _threat_. To him. And that means to you!” He pokes Mac in the chest with his finger. “There must be a reason why your old man doesn’t just call your or send you a text or a damn  _carrier pigeon!_ Why he doesn’t just pop over for a drink and chat! He must have a really good reason for all these games he plays.”

Mac makes a frustrated noise. “What do you want me to do, then, Jack? Just-just let it go? Not look into it?”

“No, of course not!” Jack says, now just as frustrated. For someone so brilliant, the kid sure can be rather thick sometimes. “You look into it.  _We_ look into it. I’ll help you with research if that’s what you want - I would rather gnaw off my own  _foot_ than dig through files, especially of  _this_ kind” –he points with his thumb over his shoulder, at the museum– ”but I’ll do it, for you… Or I can stay away if  _that_ is your wish. It’s up to you. But at least let me know  _what_ you’re doing and  _where_ so that I can check out the place, see if anything suspicious is going on!”

When Mac opens his mouth, most likely to protest, Jack once again rolls over him, “Because you know exactly how you get when you focus on something. You don’t see what’s going on around you, it’s just your goal and nothing else! That’s why you have  _me_ , to make sure you don’t get your noggin blown off! Do you  _get that_?”

And now Mac looks a little sheepish because, as past experience has proven, Jack is right. And they both know that Jack’s right.

“Sorry,” Mac mumbles. “I just didn’t want to–”

“Impose? Bother me?” Jack hazards a guess.

Mac shrugs. “Yeah. This whole thing with my dad, it has complicated our lives enough as it is,” he sighs.

And there it is again. Every time Jack thinks that he got through to Mac, that he finally made the kid understand that he doesn’t mind being…  _inconvenienced_ or-or  _whatever_ , that he would rather be there, in the thick of it, helping, than watch from the sidelines or, worse yet, play catch up… whenever he thinks that Mac finally understood, he’s proven wrong. What will it take to convince this foolish genius that Jack’s in this partnership for the long haul?

“Alright, fine. You know what? I'm not gonna even address that nonsense,” Jack says, annoyed, “I’m just gonna explain it to you in the simplest of terms. I’m your bodyguard. Should something happen to you, I need to at the very least know  _where you are_. Capiche?”

Mac cringes a little. “Yeah, understood.”

Jack nods. “Good. I hope that this time, it’s actually taken root! And now,” he says, dusting off his hands. “I’ve been sitting here for hours. I’m thirsty and I’m hungry and it’s all your damn fault, so you owe me dinner. Or maybe late lunch. In any case,  _food_! You’re paying.”

* * *

The next morning while they’re buying coffee - the  _good_ stuff; the dregs at the HQ could burn a hole into your stomach lining - it’s plastered all over the news: Last night, the archives of the Museum of the Holocaust in LA burned down to the ground. No injuries were reported but police suspects foul play.

Mac stands there, in the middle of the coffee shop, and stares at the screen mounted on the wall with absolute shock, eyes open wide, mouth slack with horror. And Jack, who feels his chest seize with dread as his suspicions are confirmed, whispers, “As I was saying…”


End file.
